


Early Days

by clobf



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (i think), Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Excessive References to Greater London Geography, Friendship, Gen, Martin doing some canon-typical pining, Season/Series 01, specifics for the warning in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25143889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clobf/pseuds/clobf
Summary: To be fair to Sasha and her “snooping”, she doesn’t just want to work out why Martin fills out his forms with so little regard for academic protocol. The man’s sweet, and apparently perfectly friendly, and his tea is to die for. He just won’t talk to her, not really, won’t socialise much in the office at all and when he does it’s scattered and nervous, and Sasha’s used to people claiming she’s “intimidating”, too tall and too tenacious for half the academics she meets, but Martin doesn’t seem like that sort of arsehole. His nerves apply to Jon as much as they do to her, and he seems like he could use another friend with some archival experience. More than anything, Martin Blackwood is someone she’d like to understand.It turns out I'm just very invested in the concept of Martin and Sasha being friends before it all went to shit
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	Early Days

**Author's Note:**

> \- Specifics for the blood warning: description of blood and blood loss in the aftermath of Sasha's encounter with Michael - slightly more intense than the statement but not as bad as most of canon. If you want to skip the worst of it jump from "After the meeting in the cafe" to "Later, she won’t remember most of the conversation" and if you want to skip absolutely all references to it jump to "Once it’s actually time to leave". I'll explain what happened in the end notes x

“Maybe it’s just nerves. Can’t be fun, starting a new job and crushing on the boss”

“Nerves so bad you forget how to use our search engine? Who gets a crush that badly?”

“Me, first time you spoke to me-”

“You’re just shit at your job, mate.”

“-sod off, and to be fair to him, that database has the weirdest setup, it’s not just like using Google.”

“I know, and look, it’s not like I’m going to go all _Jon_ on him about it, I just think it’s a bit strange, you know? He’s done a BA and a Masters in a subject that’s way more relevant to this job than, I don’t know, anthropology-”

“Sasha, I formally apologise for eating the last muffin, I will bake you some more myself, please let me out the doghouse-”

“Raspberry and white chocolate?”

“Sure, fine, whatever, you’re lucky I need you to explain the remnants of a filing system round here, can we stop bullying me and leave this fascinating conspiracy theory you’ve constructed out of a coworker who’s taking a while to settle in? I came here to prove a point about Christmas films in summer.”

“I just don’t think it makes any sense! There’s something there, I’m totally certain.”

“Sasha. Dearest, darling, light of my life-”

“Ooh, can you make some with cream cheese icing?”

“On a muffin? No one ices muffins. _Anyway_ , I still think he’s just having a tricky first month, there’s no need for your snooping.”

Sasha studies him carefully, the relaxed way he’s lying across her couch at odds with the way he’s picking at a fraying orange cushion.

“You know something! What is it, what’s up? I already said I won’t be a dick.”

“Nothing, I don’t know what you’re on about!” Tim chucks the cushion at her and grabs the remote. “Are we going to watch _Love, Actually_ or not?”

“Fine, be like that. But I’ll work it out eventually. And I want icing on those muffins.”

To be fair to Sasha and her “snooping”, she doesn’t just want to work out why Martin fills out his forms with so little regard for academic protocol. The man’s sweet, and apparently perfectly friendly, and his tea is to die for. He just won’t _talk_ to her, not really, won’t socialise much in the office at all and when he does it’s scattered and nervous, and Sasha’s used to people claiming she’s “intimidating”, too tall and too tenacious for half the academics she meets, but Martin doesn’t seem like that sort of arsehole. His nerves apply to Jon as much as they do to her, and he seems like he could use another friend with some archival experience. More than anything, Martin Blackwood is someone she’d like to understand.

So the next day, when she sees Martin head into the breakroom around lunch, she grabs the tupperware Tim’s left on her desk and follows him through. He’s got his array of tea mugs out with the bags in before he notices her, and if she knew him better she’d want to laugh at the shock on his face. Instead, she waves the tupperware at him. “Do you want a cupcake?”

“Sorry?”

“Tim made me cupcakes. After he polished off all those muffins that Elias’ fancy corporate meeting left in the function hall. I asked for muffins with icing, but apparently “that’s just a cupcake”, which is bullshit but whatever.”

“Aren’t they different sizes?”

“Yes they- _yes._ ” she sticks her head back out the breakroom. “Tim! Tim, Martin agrees with me! Cupcakes and iced muffins aren’t the same thing and you’re a prat!”

“Traitor!” Tim calls back, and Martin laughs awkwardly.

“Well, I-” “You’ve made the right decision. Want a cupcake that isn’t a muffin?”

”I- sure.” She prizes open the tupperware, which in Tim’s defence is crammed with cupcakes that were probably very neatly iced before Southeastern Trains had a go at them. Martin’s finished the teas and she’s a little worried he’s about to run away, so she grabs two of the mugs and marches them out to Tim’s desk.

“Give that one to Jon,” she tells him, and he squints up at her suspiciously.

“What are you doing, Sash?”

“Making a friend,”

“Hm, ok. Sure, fine, I’ll take Jon his tea, don’t interrogate the poor man too much.”

“It’s a conversation!”, she hisses as she backs back into the breakroom. He does a little _I’m watching you_ gesture, and goes to knock on Jon’s door.

Martin’s still hovering by the kettle, so she sets out two cupcakes at the table and sits down.

“How’s it going getting those records?” she asks. He’s been on the phone all morning, chasing unhelpful estate agents and trying to follow up on something or other.

“Well, it’s.. Going,” he replies. He looks exhausted, and the end of the word is swallowed by a yawn. It catches on for Sasha, so they sort of look at each other and she blinks a few times before trying again.

“Long weekend?”

“Mm, nothing exciting.” He’s clearly waiting for her to pick up the conversation but she doesn’t really know where to take it, and usually if you just wait- “I went to visit my mum, so. Late train back.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you!” She gets an extremely noncommittal shrug and dials down the enthusiasm a little.

“My brother’s trying to move flats at the moment and you couldn’t get me to go and help if you paid me. Way too much clutter.”

“S’pose a move is the right time for a clearout, though?”

“ _Right_ , you’d think so, wouldn’t you, but he’s trying to start a new business so it’s just all his files and his card and big computers and a weird standing desk, and there’s boxes _everywhere_ and you can’t chuck any of them, it’s awful.”

Martin chuckles a bit at that, and even though she realises she’s accidentally talked them off the topic of him and onto her, she reckons that’s progress.

“Were you up right before the move, then?” he asks, and instead of explaining the whole messy situation with her family Sasha offers him another cupcake and clarifies that actually she’s been on the phone with his husband, who’s been sending her photos and is apparently also unbothered about the chaos, which she can’t understand for the life of her. She shows Martin a few of them, and Martin makes an unsympathetic comparison to the piles of boxes littering the Archives, and they’re still chatting when the phone rings and Martin bolts off to continue his quest for some pre-1970s housing records.

It takes another two weeks before she cracks. They talk more, and Martin brings his lunch out when her and Tim go to get theirs, or they bring their sandwiches back to eat in the little break room more often than not. He realises pretty quickly that they know about his crush (“Christ, is it a completely open secret?”, he mumbles when Tim mentions it, and Sasha points out that Jon hasn’t noticed, which is what matters.) and to soften the blow Sasha tells him that if you grab a pastry for Rosie on the way in, she’ll sign you in on time even if you’re late. Every now and then she tries to nudge their conversations round to their training, or education, or something that might explain why she still sees Martin trying to filter through their research records by hand, but she always finds herself on another topic.

“Did you move down to London for uni?” she asks once, and Martin tells her he’s been here a few years, which doesn’t really answer the question, and then asks her if she’s ever lived outside of London, and which part did she grow up in, and suddenly she finds herself talking about a school trip to the Transport Museum before she registers what’s happening. It’s that evening, reexamining the conversation, that she gives up on it, and checks the records.

Once she’s gotten past her initial shock at the idea of Martin as someone able to walk straight into a job interview with an almost completely forged CV and pull it off, she’s mostly just extremely impressed. Not just as him tricking Elias (and it was easy for her to work out from their system that he can’t have done, not completely, and yet he’s here. It makes no sense to her) but also at how well he’s done. She imagines joining the institute without anything she’s learnt from her degree, imagines trying to bluff her way through working in the library (whose job, she realises with a jolt, includes offering academic support to students using the Institute for their own research) and she’s forced to admit she could never have done it.

For the next few days she struggled with the urge to send Martin an email detailing where he can find the training he’s missing online, but even by her standards she knows she’s committed a breach of privacy and she doesn’t particularly want to watch the fallout. Plus, she still can’t shake the suspicion that Tim knew something, and despite her knee jerk irritation at him not telling her, she doesn’t want to mess up whatever happened there. When she mentions it to him in the stacks a few days later, her suspicions are confirmed. That evening, he texts her _i mean it, please please don’t say anything to martin._

_Sasha James: Dont worry! youre safe_

_Sasha James: Just wish i could help him_

_Tim Stoker: for what its worth im trying. he doesnt want to draw attention_

S _asha James: Fair enough_

_Tim Stoker: also!! i got a pity invite from an old work friend to a book launch next week! its for some book on english folklore and apparently ive got a plus one. p sure theyre trying to fill the room but it looks kind of interesting and theres usually free food at these things if u want to come? as mates i swear, i did listen to u today_

_Sasha James: a what invite?_

_Tim Stoker: like, theyre glad im not there being angry and grieve-y in their faces any more but they still feel bad abt my brother going missing and they wanna check in_

Sasha lets him change the topic onto the specifics of this book, but she doesn’t stop wanting to lend a hand as the week drags on. 

“Tim, can I have a word?”

“What’s up?”

“Can you talk me through how to work our filter to get the stuff the research department thought were relevant to this?”

“Sure? It’s the same as pretty much every uni catalogue I’ve come across, so it should work if you treat it like yours, or like the one at your last job. Actually, didn’t you have to use it when you were in Artefact Storage?”

Sasha fights the urge to glare at him. Martin’s looking over and it would probably be a little obvious. “Yeah, I’ve never really been able to get it to work, though. I always end up filtering half of it out by hand and it takes hours.”

“Uh, ok? Yeah, ok, it’s just- hang on.” He saves the email he’s sending and walks his chair over to her. _What’s going on??_ he writes on the pad on her desk, and she steps on his foot. Out of the corner of her eye, Sasha sees Martin set a pile of papers aside and get something up on his computer. Good. Tim must spot it too, because his confused expression smooths out and he opens up the Institute’s internal network. “So click on the small dots at the top, and you’ll get a whole list of options, and you need to scroll down until you see the one that says Institute access only, that’ll cut out any of the public stuff that the library has on its system…”

In the end, the explanation takes about thirty minutes, and reminds Sasha just how ridiculous their system actually is. She spends most of the time writing a shopping list in place of “notes”, and occasionally nodding intently, but when she looks up about halfway through, she sees Martin clicking through in time with Tim’s explanation, so she reckons it was worth it. 

By the time the next Archive pub night rolls around, Martin’s comfortable enough to wander over to her as Tim leans in the doorway of Jon’s office, trying to cajole him away from the piles of old papers that somehow seem to grow with every case they manage to file away. Sasha hasn’t forgiven Elias for passing her over so blatantly, but the longer they stay here, the less jealous she finds herself of Jon’s dark under eyes and nervous fidgeting.

“How do you reckon he does that?” Martin says, and she flicks her attention over to find him looking over at the others, watching Tim beginning to tidy up the corners of Jon’s desk. Jon seems to have given in, packing up his laptop and rearranging a couple of files.

“What, his “sweet talk Jon into drinks” act?”

“Yeah, or- well. All of it, really.”

“Secret Oxbridge cult? Blackmail? Tim’s evil seductive wiles?” she replies, cringing a second too late. Martin’s crush isn’t under any threat from Tim, but he doesn’t know that. It feels unfair to rub it in. He’s laughing a little though, so it can’t have been too bad, and she grabs his coat off the rack by the door and offers it to him as an apology, in case it was. “Honestly, they’ve just known each other longer, I think. We’ll all get there.” It’s not the best comfort on earth, but Martin gives her a small smile before they’re both interrupted by Tim shepherding Jon over to them and bustling them all out the door towards the pub.

Jon bails out pretty early in the end, saying he’s hoping to come in tomorrow to try and get a headstart on the list of Amy Patel’s classmates Sasha had dug up. He won’t be swayed by any of their groans (“It’s Friday, Jon”) and Martin’s offer to come in and give him a hand gets shot down very firmly.

“He’d be a shitty boss if he asked you to do it anyway, there’s sod all overtime.” says Tim later, when he spies the look on Martin’s face, and Sasha shoos him away to get them all more drinks. “You would never, Sash!” he adds over his shoulder as he slides out of the booth.

“He’s not wrong,” she says under her breath, elbow bumping against Martin’s as they squeeze into their seats to leave a path to the bar. “About the overtime, I mean.” _And me, but that’s not the point, right now._

Martin visibly bolsters his smile before he replies. “I know - I wouldn’t even want to, really. It’s fine.” His accent flows a little thicker here, Sasha notices, a couple of drinks in and away from the office, where Jon makes offhand comments about Ancient Greek and even Tim occasionally forgets what most people’s sphere of reference looks like. _Always makes me feel like I’m late for a supo_ he’d said the other day, and Sasha had caught Martin’s hands sliding to his keyboard before she’d lobbed a pencil across the room and interrupted _say it like us humans, Stoker_.

“I think he’ll settle down a bit once Elias stops checking in so much, anyway. And you’re doing a good job either way.” It sounds patronising, she _knows_ it does, but Martin just lets out a little huff.

“Thanks, Sasha.” They sit in silence for a second and then “Sorry, we can talk about something else, I didn’t mean to-”

“What’s the point of a pub night if we’re not going to moan about the boss?”

“Hear, hear!” calls Tim, arriving back and startling the couple who are clearly on a first date across from them.

In fairness to him, it doesn’t look like it’s going well either way - the guy has barely stopped talking since he’d first arrived (late). Tim’s balancing a precarious array of drinks, and the conversation’s dropped for a while, as they reorganise themselves and bicker over who paid for the last round. Then Tim starts bothering Martin about a statement he’d been following up on (“Yes, Tim, _obviously_ she didn’t see Harold Wilson’s ghost on Clapham Common in 1994, but I couldn’t just tell her he died in 1995 and hang up on her, could I? _I_ phoned _her_ , listen-”) and they’ve all had a few more drinks by the time the topic circles back round to Jon.

“I jus- I _want_ to do well, you know?”

“We know, Martin, it’s ok-”

“And he just doesn’t wait-”

“Mmhm-”

“For- for anyone to explain, he just _assumes_ -”

“Yeah, he does a bit-”

“Think it’s nerves, you know, big promotion-”

“-that I’ve done it wrong, yeah I _know_ it is, Tim, of course it is, but- but why-”

“Why did Elias hire him and not Sash? What starts with “s” and ends with “exism in acada- academ- Elias is a prick.”

“ _Honestly_ , Tim, that’s not the point here,”

“Yes it _is_ , Jon’s great but it doesn’t make any sense-”

“No, I meant-”

“-choosing him over-”

“-I just-”

“You, when he wasn’t.. Wasn’t even interested-”

“Ssh, listen to Martin. Martin, what were you saying?”

“Why does he hate _me_ so much, I mean I know why, I get it, but- I _am_ trying.”

“Oh, Martin, no-” Sasha starts, freezing in her seat. She doesn’t know what to say, wants to direct him to Tim, whose dismayed look she can see over his shoulder and who’s _better_ at all of this. But Martin’s looking at her and the longer she waits the more awkward she’s making it.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m bringing down the mood, I’ll just-” whatever else he meant to say gets lost as she scrambles over herself to get an arm round him. It takes some maneuvering and she gets some hair in her mouth, but she can feel his arm come up to return the hug, and she squeezes as tight as possible.

“Well, now I just feel left out,” says Tim, and Martin laughs into her shoulder and they both struggle to keep their balance as 5’11’’ of _Hey, you should come running with me this weekend, it’ll be fun,_ lands on Martin’s back and threatens to topple them out of the booth.

A couple of hours later, Sasha and Martin have been left alone in the booth. Tim had dragged himself away, whining about catching the last train to varying degrees of sympathy (“You can stay on my couch”, Martin had said, while Sasha had laughed and suggested moving to an address that was actually in London.) People are starting to shuffle out, going home or on to clubs that’ll still be open, and Sasha’s sort of waiting for the bartender to move them out. They haven’t even ordered anything in a while, both deeply offended by Chelsea prices.

“You know, Jon’s great, like he’s trying really hard-” begins Martin, and Sasha smirks at him, relieved that they’ve recovered from the emotions of the rest of the night.

“Yeah, Martin, I know you think Jon’s great.”

He flushes and flaps a hand at her “Not- not that- I. I mean, he is great, but Tim’s kind of right, you know?”

“Don’t let him hear it. Right about what?”

“Well- you’re really good at your job.”

“Oh. Thank you, Martin.” She doesn’t know what else to say, and she’s slipping into the sleepy phase of the night, so she leans her head against his shoulder instead, and watches the woman at the table opposite surreptitiously check her phone under the table.

“D’you reckon she’s managed to get enough words in to tell him his jumper’s inside out?” asks Martin, quietly, and the two of them dissolve into giggles.

Gradually, the office relaxes. Not completely, and certainly not when they stumble on another statement that fritzes up the computers and has Jon going pinched and snappish, but enough of the time. Martin seems to settle in a bit, to the job and the people, and the pub nights become semi-regular. There’s also a groupchat with Jon, and another without him that Sasha suspects they all feel a little guilty about - it had started with Martin sending both of them a Facebook post with the title “Tag Your Fake London Friends” and Tim’s squawk of offence had made it worth it at the time. Now, every time someone (usually Martin) suggests deleting it, or adding Jon so that they can just have a separate work chat and normal chat, someone else (usually Tim) will ask where they’re meant to put the Gertrude conspiracy theories, or the “out of office” excuses, or the gossip picked up from Rosie, and it never quite happens.

Things with Jon are still a little.. rough, to put it gently. He’s clearly trying, and he’s much easier around Sasha than he had been when they’d first moved over. It had never really been him she was angry with anyway, and it’s clear he wants this promotion about as much as she wanted him to get it, so mostly, they’re fine. He’s still tense, though, and hasn’t gotten any kinder to Martin as the extent of the mess Gertrude left behind becomes clear. Sasha considers floating her concerns about Gertrude’s filing and the implications it might carry, but she’s read the annotations on Jon’s statements, and he doesn’t seem like a man open to geriatric conspiracy theories. She doesn’t raise the Martin thing either, even though she desperately wants to, in part because she’s got no idea how to discuss it without broaching Jon’s own inexperience, and the rhythm they’ve reached isn’t anywhere near solid enough for that yet. Tim tries, once, down in the stacks. She catches half of that conversation as she hunts for a statement that she’s sure relates to Naomi Herne’s case, crouched among a pile of boxes that claim to be from 1997.

“Look, he really is trying,” Tim’s saying, and she hears paper rustling as Jon presumably sorts through the statement Martin had left on his desk that morning. Sasha had glanced over it during lunch and the facts were technically fine, but she could see Jon’s point.

“I’m sure, Tim, but, this is- look, how do you want me to send this off to Elias?”

Back at her desk, she gives Martin the name of a woman that had left a rather shaky voicemail about vampires on her lawn, and nabs his next report off his desk while he’s on the phone to her, picking at an old sticker on his desk as the conversation veers apparently off the rails.

“Yes, I understand how upsetting that would be for you, oh, no, we can’t really… well I suppose you could call your council if you’re worried about… can I ask what made you think they were vampires? No, of course we do, just.. Look, would you consider coming in to give a statement?... Well, if we find anything we’ll let you-... no that’s not really a service we provide, madam, I’m very-... There isn’t really a manager available, I can pass you over to HR? Well- no ok, I- right. Goodbye? That was- Oh Sasha, you don’t need to do that, I-”

“Honestly, Martin, you’re doing me a favour, that sounded awful. The least I could do is type up a report.”

“Are you sure? Yeah, absolutely! Plus it’s mostly just some references, you know? My old uni’s got a style guide online for when I forget them.”

“Hm- Oh they do?”

“Yeah, you show off. Some of us are forgetful, and need to Google half our citations.” adds Tim, who’s apparently resurfaced at some point in the last few minutes. He looks a bit put out, and Sasha suspects the talk with Jon did not end well.

“Right, yeah, of course. That’s what the internet’s for, I suppose,” grins Martin, and Sasha says,

“Yeah, just for Tim being lazy,” and waits for the balled up post-it note to hit the wall behind her.

She’s underestimated Tim’s aim a little, but Martin gets her a cup of tea, and Tim smiles at her like he definitely knows what she’s up to this time, so it’s not too bad.

When Martin texts them to say he’s too ill to make it in, the first question she asks is whether Jon knows. He’s sent it in the this is workplace bullying chat (most recently named by Tim), and she wonders if he’s asking them to make an excuse for him. Which they would, of course, but it seems odd to tell them he’s sick if he’s not, or not to text Jon directly if he is. But Martin replies pretty quickly ( _I have contacted John. He is aware of the situation_ ) and she decides that if he’s so ill he’s relying on speech to text to send his messages, he probably doesn’t need her bothering him about it. Tim offers to drop some soup round and gets declined, and Sasha doesn’t think she’s likely to be accepted if he wasn't, so she sets about covering as much of the work on his desk as she can before he gets back. She finds Jon looking a bit exasperated the next morning, but to his credit he just asks her if the rest of the Vittory follow up is anywhere in the office, and retreats back behind his door when Tim digs it up. Beyond that, nothing much changes, other than a sudden drop in the consumption of tea around the office.

He doesn’t come in the next day, or the next, and the groupchat trickles off into a series of concerned texts and monotone answers

_Sasha James: Just wondering if youre still under the weather?? no pressure jons just asking after you and i can let him know if youll be a few more days_

_Tim Stoker: also yeah jon is asking after u!_

_Tim Stoker: …..looks kinda concerned u kno……..._

_Sasha James: Ignore him and let us know how its going! xx_

_Martin Blackwood: Still not well_

_Tim Stoker: are u sure about that soup?? ive been told its excellent_

_Sasha James: No you havent_

_Tim Stoker: no i havent but it is so there x_

_Martin Blackwood: No, thank you._

_Sasha James: Smart choice!! let us know if you want anything that is edible though_

_-_

_Tim Stoker: hows the invalid x_

_Martin Blackwood: I think I may have caught a stomach bug._

_Sasha James: Oh no! i'll let jon know dw_

_Tim Stoker: ur not missing anything ive been researching a v creepy priest for the last 3 days and we just heard jon recording that horror nightmare abt the guy in the meat flat_

_Tim Stoker: in case u werent sick enough already xxx_

_Sasha James: Great bedside manner stoker_

_-_

_Sasha James: Have you been to the doctor??_

_Martin Blackwood: Yes_

_Sasha James: Look after urself x_

_Tim Stoker: ^^^ feel better!_

Martin bursts into the office a week later and rushes past both their questions to Jon’s office. He emerges pale and quiet, and Jon explains the situation with a grave expression and shaking hands, and Sasha slides out to the break room and boils the kettle. When she comes back clutching some custard creams and a massive Sports Direct mug full of tea, the way she’s pretty sure Martin takes it, Jon’s vanished off to Elias’ office and Tim’s talking to Martin. She catches the tail end of the conversation as she sets the mug down.

“-honestly, mate, I’m so sorry no one came over to check-”

“Seriously, Tim, it’s fine. I don’t think there’s an ‘in case of kidnapping’ bit of the handbook. And you’re not under any obligations to check in on sick coworkers normally. Anyway, I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Tea!” says Sasha, because Tim looks almost as shaken as Martin and she remembers him sitting across from her in his kitchen, remembers a street light outside highlighting his tear tracks, remembers his voice cracking _if I’d just been there_ \- “also biscuits! I don’t know where they came from but they were open so they’re a free for all, dig in!”

Martin takes the mug from her and she watches his hands wrap around it tight and hopes the warmth might replace some of whatever he must have been feeling, alone in his flat for two weeks, assuming they didn’t care to come find him. It seems so unfair that of all of them, it was Martin who had to cope with it, Martin who is lovely and kind and barely equipped to deal with Jon in a bad mood, let alone an evil lady full of worms. _Martin’s phone would know how to spell Jon,_ she keeps scolding herself. _You shouldn’t have missed that. You know that._

“What are you doing for clothes?” she asks instead, forcing the guilt back down.

“I- I don’t know. I reckon I could order some here under expenses, maybe? I don’t… I don’t really want to risk going back.”

Sasha shakes her head and hears Tim say “Oh God, no, of course not,” at the same time.

“Won’t be the weirdest receipt Rosie’s processed by a mile,” she says, “but what about while you wait?”

“I think I’ve got some of your stuff at my flat from that time you missed the trains looking at baby photos and jigsaws,” offers Tim. “I could go now and get it back here this evening? Plus my last flatmate left a bunch of his crap - some blankets and cushions and stuff, and he skipped out on the last two months of rent so he can’t complain about me redistributing it. If you’re going to be sleeping here we might as well make it cosy, you know. Get a proper sleepover setup going?”

“What if she’s around?” asks Sasha, because someone has to.

“If I see her I’ll come straight back. But it’s pretty public the whole way, I should be alright.”

“Her creepy oyster card probably won’t have enough to get her all the way out to Kent,” says Martin, and it’s a bit of a weak joke, but they both grin at him, even as Tim tells him,

“You know, we actually took a vote while you were gone and it turns out those jokes have gotten old. Majority decision. You’re behind the times, Blackwood.”

“Don’t you have to be going if you want to get back before Christmas?” asks Sasha, and feels warmer herself as she hears Martin laugh over Tim’s retreating footsteps.

“Would you like the turndown service in the morning, sir?” says Sasha, leaning in the doorway to Document Storage.

Martin looks up from where he’s laying an old foam mattress out on a camp bed and chuckles. “No, thank you, Ms James.” He pauses, apparently noticing the hand tucked behind her back. “Um, what’s that, Sasha?”

She enters the room properly, and offers her desk lamp out to him. “Tim’ll be back with your stuff soon, but I bet he won’t have brought a lamp and the lights in here are a nightmare.”

Martin takes the lamp and sets it up on a crate next to the bed. Sasha fetches the extension cord trailing out from under the shelves and plugs it in. “Thank you,” he says quietly, as she stands again and brushes down her jeans. His hands are twisting where they’re resting on his knees, and she realises she really doesn’t want to leave him in this room.

She sits down next to him, blanking the alarming way the bed dips under her weight. “Are you going to be alright, locked up in here with Jon?”

Martin knocks his shoulder against hers, chuckling. “I’ll manage somehow, probably. You know he suggested this? I mean, it’s not _great_ that he already has a bed in here, but it’s nice of him to offer it.”

“Yeah, I know- Just- are you sure you don’t want to stay with one of us? Or have someone stay over?”

“I’m sure, Sasha, really, this is the safest place I could be, I’ll catch up on some work-”

“Do not let Jon make you catch up on any work,” Sasha threatens, pointing a finger at him firmly.

“I’ll catch up on some work _of my own free will,_ promise. Thanks for the lamp. Honestly, I’m just glad I can order takeaways again.”

She hugs him and stands. It still feels awful, leaving him here, and she wants to say something, even if it’s just another question, but he’s right, and if she’s being honest with herself it would be irresponsible to invite him out of the archives so soon. It seems slightly absurd to her that Martin, awkward and easily shaken, managed to survive an encounter with something that everyone’s pinned as being such a threat.

“Ok, evening, then. Don’t let the- sleep well.”

“See you tomorrow, Sasha.” He stands to hug her, briefly, and she holds on tight for a couple of extra seconds before she goes. She pulls her phone out of her pocket as she heads back through to the office.

_Sasha James: Grab him a takeaway too? i can pay x_

_Tim Stoker: one step ahead of u_

“Are you off?” Jon calls across to her.

“Yeah, Tim’ll be by with his stuff pretty soon.”

“Alright. Be careful, Sasha.”

“Of course I will.” As she packs up her stuff, his phone beeps at him, and he heads past her to the exit. At first, she assumes he’s heading home on time for once in his life, with Martin occupying the campbed, but as she waves goodbye to Rosie, she sees him outside, collecting a paper bag from a guy on a motorbike and coming back in. She texts Tim again.

_Sasha James: Jons beaten us both on the takeaway front_

_Tim Stoker: wonders never cease!!! ill leave it in the fridge_

After the meeting in the cafe, and the worms and the graveyard and the _corpse_ , Sasha stumbles through the institute in a daze. She needs to tell Jon, she needs to make a statement, needs to know if it will record or not, she needs to- “

Sasha? Sasha, is that you?” It’s dark and that’s Martin’s voice in the darkness, right, because Martin’s here now, because of the worms, because of the worms she saw at in Timothy Hodge, did any more follow her, maybe there are more worms in her shoulder - it does feel weird or is that the blood and-

“Sasha, shit, what happened to you? Wait, come here. Sit down, careful, you’re alright- is that blood? No, no, don’t look at it, I’ll get a first aid kit. Just breathe, slowly, steady now, you’re ok, you’re right here, I’m just getting a first aid kit and some water, ok? Keep breathing for me, good job, right, here we go. Take a sip of that, can I move your shirt out the way a bit? Sasha? I just need to look at your shoulder, check where all the blood’s coming from.”

“Hm?”

“Sasha, can I check your shoulder? I’ll need to move your shirt.”

“Right, sure, yeah, ok… do...that, I’ll just..” The room’s spinning a bit. It’s blood loss, or shock, people get that, don’t they, shock. Martin’s voice sounds fuzzy.

“Ok, that’s great, thank you, you’re doing great. I’m just going to- ah ok, I’ll clean this, and then we’ll bandage it up and get you some more clothes, it must be raining outside. Where were you?”

“The cemetery - the, um.. It was a big cemetery..“

“Ok, good, tell me about it, where’s that?”

“The street was, um.. Azalea something. West Ealing, I think, I..”

“West- Christ, Sasha, did you walk here?”

Later, she won’t remember most of the conversation, but when he comes back into focus again she’s sitting on the bed in Document Storage, gripping onto the Sports Direct mug full of hot tea, with a quilt she recognises from Tim’s room round her shoulders. Martin’s digging through a cardboard box he seems to have repurposed as a wardrobe, and when he straightens up again he’s holding a hoodie and some tracksuit bottoms.

“They’ll be a bit short on you, but they should fit. Not the height of fashion, though, sorry.”

“Half _my_ clothes are too short for me and I paid for them.”

He leaves and she takes a moment to breathe, and feel the warmth of the mug spreading to her knuckles, her shoulders, the tension in her back. She wriggles into the clothes - they’re short in the legs but the shoulders of the hoodie are wide enough to hang off her arms and she has to cinch the waist of the trackies in a bit. She remembers leaving Martin sitting in this room in the clothes he’d run here in, and feels another stray pang of guilt.

Martin knocks on the door, and when she opens it he’s got a bag to put her clothes in, wet from the rain and the blood. “Do you want me to call anyone? Your brother?” he asks, and she shakes her head rather than acknowledge that everyone she might call in a crisis works in this building, and is either here already or will be in the morning.

“Ok,” he says. “Do you want to try and get some sleep? Jon won’t be in for another couple of hours, and that bed’s actually alright when you get settled.”

“I’m not taking your bed, Martin,” she says, but he tells her she clearly needs it and the next thing she knows she’s already lying down and someone’s switched the lamp from her desk off.

When she wakes up she’s feeling much more clear headed, and between trying to reassure Tim that she’s fine, actually (“Sasha, I promise I’m not trying to fuss over you but there was a quite a lot of blood by the door to the office, I’m just saying”) giving Jon her statement, she remembers that the night was fascinating if scary and and by the time she’s had a coffee and she’s explained it all a couple of times in real, proper words, she’s feeling a lot more sure of herself. Sort of proud, actually, of surviving her first supernatural encounter, of making it back with information. The feeling lasts all through the day, and through her ordering Tim back to his despite his offers to crash at hers or for her to stay at his or to-

(“Tim, you will miss your train,”

“Sasha, you could have died.”

“I know, but I’m fine, really, I.. I think it was generally benevolent?”

“It also stabbed you, so, grain of salt.”

“Fair, but. I promise I’ll be ok. I’ll text you when I’m home.”)

Once it’s actually time to leave, though, she hovers around the office for a bit, organising and reorganising a box of statements that have all been completely discredited. It suddenly seems kind of dark outside. She’s stuck her head into Document Storage before she remembers that she’s trying to be competent and above all this.

“Hey, you want spag bol?”

“Sorry?”

“Look, I know you said no last time, but you’ve been living off takeaway for way too long now, and it’s a favour to me this time round, so.. Spag bol?”

They must look a bit odd, sitting on the tube with a fire extinguisher nicked from the Institute between them, but people have seen weirder things, and the barriers are open when they get to Finsbury Park. They’re both on edge on the walk from the station to her flat, but between them they keep up a steady stream of conversation, and Sasha makes sure to gesture firmly away from the florist’s as they pass it.

“Park’s over there, theatre that way and a rock climbing centre further down.”

“Well, I like parks, at least.” says Martin.

They don’t talk about any of it over dinner. Sasha cooks and Martin tells her about one of the books Tim dropped off for him, some account of life in a small fictional town with some “mindblowing” narration, and Sasha tells him about the kids she saw choreographing an entire dance to their ringtones in a cafe over the weekend. Martin offers to wash up and she tells him that’s not fair, and that she’ll do it later, and he tells her that’s not fair, and so they’re standing over the sink, Martin handing her a dripping saucepan to wipe dry, when he says “I’m sorry you’ve all been caught up in this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Prentiss, the bugs… whatever that weird thing was that took you to the cemetery. I’m sorry I brought it back to the institute.”

“You didn’t exactly invite her home with you, Martin."

“I could have.. done something differently. Kept a hold of my phone, found a way to warn you lot- I don’t know. Whatever you would have done, maybe.” He huffs a laugh and Sasha remembers suddenly her conversation with Jon this morning, remnants of adrenaline from her own spooky encounter making her flippant.

_His self-preservation instincts are not the strongest-_

“No, I-”

She thinks about Martin, sitting in his flat with no power and no phone and no idea what was happening. She couldn’t have done it, wouldn’t have done it, would have fought her way out or got a message to her neighbours or- the realisation settles on her as though it’s been there the whole time. If she’d done the Vittory followup, she would have died.

_-if this Prentiss were the danger everyone seemed to think-_

“Sasha?”

_-he’d almost certainly be dead_

“Sorry, I- I think you were pretty brilliant, Martin.”

“Oh.” He looks taken aback, pauses for a second in the washing up. “Thanks, Sasha.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then everyone leaves the institute and lives together in a cute cottage by the beach and also elias dies somehow the end uwuwuwuwuwu
> 
> \- All that happened in the bit I suggested skipping was that Sasha shows up dazed and bleeding after her run in with Michael, and Martin cleans her up and moves her into the campbed until everyone arrives
> 
> \- Big big shoutouts to Lizzie (chewsdaychillin on ao3) for brainstorming this with me and for some last minute proofing, Mar (elfentruthed on ao3) for some fantastic early comments and the muffin/cupcake debate, Peej (witching on ao3) for suggesting Love Actually, Ind (too cool for Ao3) for conversation topics, and Jem (not cool enough for Ao3) for Slang Support. Incredible, the lot of them.
> 
> \- In assigning addresses for this fic and my office supplies series I've accidentally given Tim and Sasha an absurd commute to each other's homes so just know they're very dedicated to this friendship. It's over an hour and its got three different legs. 
> 
> \- I say no rights for "London" suburbs and I say that with the authority of someone who spends over half the year living in one.
> 
> \- With this fic I entered the sdmcu (the sport direct mug cinematic universe)
> 
> \- The rock climbing centre and the theatre near finsbury park are both real and both very cool (the rock climbing's in a castle guys)
> 
> \- Flashback quotes are taken from MAG 26 - A Distortion, and the title's taken from the conversation in MAG 162 - Dwelling. Generally this fic was inspired by Martin mentioning Sasha in MAG 170 and also the contrasts in the way she talks about him to Jon in MAG 26 and to Tim in MAG 162
> 
> find me on tumblr!!! crappylineofbestfit


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